Connor had checked both Dunn’s office and his home address. The man wasn’t at either one. Nor was he picking up his phone. Where the hell was he? Connor left a message telling him he needed to talk to him about his case.
When he hung up, he called Brie, but her phone went straight to voice mail. He left her a message telling her he hadn’t gotten in touch with Dunn, so she should be on guard.
Walking back to his car, he realized all he’d eaten all day was a stale donut at the office. Crawling behind the wheel, he headed straight to the closest fast-food joint.
He’d just parked when his phone rang. The aroma of grilled burgers and greasy French fries penetrated his car. His stomach growled as he pulled his cell from his pocket. The anonymous number almost had him letting it go unanswered. Then thinking it might be Dunn, he picked up.
“Detective Pierce.”
“You said to call if I saw her.” It took a minute to realize it was Brie’s landlord.
“Yes, but—”
“Well, I saw her car in the parking lot when I got back from the store, but I had to take another call as soon as I walked in. I’d just hung up when her neighbor phoned to say she’d spotted the same man sneaking into Ms. Colton’s place again.”
“What? Is Brie still there?”
“Who’s Brie?”
“I meant Star.” He checked the time. She said she had to be at work at eight. It was still a few minutes before. “Is her car still there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a security guard on the premises?”
“No.”
“Search for her car right now! If it’s there, call 911. I’m on my way.”
Connor made the ten-minute drive in six. He was parking when the landlord called to say Brie’s car wasn’t there. His gut said she’d left before the perp showed up, but what if he’d taken her car, too? He hauled ass to her building. In the glow of a porch light stood the landlord and the neighbor he’d met earlier.
“She’s not there,” the landlord said. “I checked to be sure she wasn’t lying in there hurt. And Mrs. Edwards”—she pointed to the neighbor—“saw the guy leave.”
The knot of panic in his belly loosened, and he focused on the neighbor. “Are you sure it was the same guy?”
“Yeah.” She appeared nervous and he knew why.
“I thought you said you didn’t see the guy who broke in earlier.”
She flinched. “I may have seen him briefly. Look, I don’t like getting mixed up in stuff.”
Connor figured what she really didn’t like was cops. “What did he look like and how long was he here?”
“He wasn’t here three minutes. And he had red hair. A big guy.”
Connor heard a meow. He looked over at Brie’s door and saw her cat half-in and half-out the door.
“No.” Knowing how sharp the fellow’s claws were, he shooed the cat back inside with his foot, then tried to shut the door. It wouldn’t shut. The neighbor took that opportunity to run back into her place.
“Do I need to call the police again?” the landlord asked.
“No. But you need to fix her door.”
She walked away. Connor saw the cat peer out of the opening again. Great. Now he had to put Psycho back in the bathroom and probably get clawed again.
Careful not to let the cat out, he eased inside. The feline darted under the sofa, staring at him with bright green eyes. He shut the door as far as he could. Right beside the door was a chair. Brie must’ve used it to keep the door closed.
Turning around, he refocused on the cat. “I’m not the enemy. It’s the other guy you should’ve clawed up.” The two of them held a staring contest. “I don’t suppose you’d just head on back to the bathroom, would you?”
The cat meowed.
“I didn’t think so.” He squatted down. “Come here, kitty.” Psycho didn’t budge. When he tried to reach in, the cat hissed.
Standing up to find a towel to grab the cat, he walked down the hall and stuck his head in the bathroom door.
The smell—her smell—hung thick in the still damp room. The scent, a little like fruity shampoo, filled his senses. Immediately, his mind created a vision of her standing in the shower with droplets of water slipping down soft, touchable, bare skin.
He ran a hand over his face and blew out a mouthful of air. Then he saw his shirt on the countertop. The image of her in the sexy lace bra filled his head.
“Damn,” he muttered when a certain southern part hardened.
He grabbed the light blue towel from the rack. It was damp. Her smell wafted up from the thick cotton.
When had a women’s scent ever made him hard? Maybe when he hadn’t indulged in sex for two months.
Frowning, he stepped out of the bathroom and his gaze shifted to the bedroom. Moving in, his eyes went to the bed, which had new sheets. Then he saw that the dresser drawer was open. Several pairs of panties were strewn on the beige carpet.
Her place had been neat when he’d been here before, so the asswipe who’d broken in must’ve gone through her things. The need to protect Brie rose up in his chest.
He looked around, wondering if the guy would come back. Would he be waiting for her when she got home?
He pulled out his phone to see if Brie had texted him back. No response, so he sent her another one. He waited for the three dots to appear.
Nothing.
His stomach grumbled. If he could grab the cat and put it back in the bathroom, he could do something about his empty stomach.
He turned to go back to Psycho when his phone rang. Thinking it was Brie, he answered it without checking the number.
“Hello?”
“Detective Pierce?” the deep voice said.
Was this Dunn? “Yes.”
“This is Eliot Franklyn.”
A vision of the tall, dark, ex-Special-Forces guy filled his mind. “Yes?”
“Brie insisted on going to work, and that I not show up there. I’m concerned. If you’re a half-decent cop, you should be concerned as well. Are you doing anything to make sure she’s protected?”
“You don’t have to worry. We’ve got someone there.”
“Good.” The line went silent. He pulled his phone down and stared at it. No “thank you.” No “goodbye.” Giving thanks wasn’t his favorite thing to do either, but his mother had taught him some manners.
He went to shove his phone back into his pocket when the dang thing rang again. This time he checked to see who was calling: Mark.
“Hey,” he answered.
“I thought I’d let you know we got someone on this Armand guy. They’re headed out to see if he’s at his hotel now.”
“Good,” Connor said. “The asswipe who broke into Brie’s place earlier came back. The manager hasn’t gotten her door fixed, so he just walked in.”
“Shit. Did you catch him?”
“No. He was gone before I got here. I didn’t let the landlord call it in either. But I think we might need to have a little chat with the bastard. His interest in Brie might not just be justice for his boss. Looks like he got into her underwear drawer.”
“Did Brie know his name?”
“No,” Connor said. “And like you, I had no luck finding Dunn. I’ve left messages, but he hasn’t called me back.”
“Okay, tomorrow we’ll come up with a plan.”
“What if he comes back tonight?”
“Warn Brie about it. She should be able to hold her own for one night.”
Connor raked a hand over his face. He didn’t like that answer.
“Was Brie sure this guy is connected to Dunn?” Mark asked. “I mean, if she’s mistaken—”
“She claimed she was sure. But I’ll confirm it again.”
“Another thing. Juan called me. He got the files from Brie of the other girls who went missing. Since some had also worked the streets, he sent the pictures to the vice unit. One of the cops recognized one. He’s pretty sure he arrested her several years back for prostitution. But he said the name Brie had for her didn’t ring a bell. He’s going to look at old files in the next few days and let Juan know what he finds.”
“Good.”
“Yeah,” Mark said, “but it also leads me to believe that these missing women might not be missing. Just living under fake identities. Not victims of human trafficking. I’m betting management helped them avoid the law by getting fake paperwork.”
Connor frowned. “Yeah.”
“Oh, I had one of the uniforms walk the route that Brie said the perp probably took when he ran, looking for cameras. He’s found two. But most of the businesses were closed, so Billy’s going tomorrow. It’s a long shot, but who knows.”
“Did Agent Calvin get back to you?” Connor asked.
“Yes. He thinks the shooting is related to Brie’s sister, not one of their own being behind it. They decided to do their own investigation, beginning with combing through Alma Ronan’s file, as if our officers missed something. I asked what they were looking for but he wouldn’t say. Of course, they expect us to share anything we learn with them.”
“Right.” Connor glanced again at Brie’s shower, thinking about her in it. “Did we find anything in Olvera’s hotel room that helped?”
“No,” Mark answered. “Oh, and despite tomorrow being Saturday, Juan and I agreed all three of us should work the case. I’m assuming you’re okay with that.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I should go break the news to Annie that I’ll be working tomorrow.”
No sooner had he pocketed his phone, when Connor heard someone call out, “Hello?” A female someone. Then came a clatter.
He headed to the living room and got there just in time to see the landlord pick up the chair she’d dislodged from the door, and Brie’s cat dash outside.
“Shit!”
“Oops,” she muttered.
Connor tore past her and couldn’t help thinking this gave whole new meaning to “chasing tail.”
* * *
“Hello there, Ms. Colton.” The tall black bouncer stationed at the door stepped aside for her.
“How you doing tonight, Danny?” she asked. She’d liked the man the first time she met him. Not because he never hit on her or any of the other girls, but because he reminded her of Eliot. Kind, a little protective, and she’d never heard him curse.
“Fine as frog’s hair,” he said.
She grinned and walked into the club, which always smelled like beer, hormones, and smoke. While there were NO SMOKING signs posted, the boss never called anyone on it, unless there was a complaint. And it couldn’t come from an employee. She’d tried.
As she entered the main section of the club, she remembered to be on the lookout for FBI. She searched for any black suits and her heart jolted when she spotted one. She moved to a partially hidden corner and waited for her eyes to adjust to the obscure club lighting. Pulse fluttering at the base of her neck, she finally got a good look at the man. Not an FBI agent, just a businessman with bad taste in suits.
“Star.” Mr. Grimes, a tight frown on his chubby face, waved her over. As she approached the bar, he tossed a cleaning rag behind the counter and walked around.
“My office,” he bit out and started toward the back.
Crap. She followed. This had to be about the Mustang.
He barreled through his office door.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, in a calm, oh-so-innocent voice.
“I’d say!” He moved behind his desk, dropping into a chair that screamed for mercy.
He flattened his palms on the desk. “Mr. Dunn believes you took his Mustang.”
“Mr. Dunn?” she asked, playing naive.
“Charles Dunn. He’s a regular.”
“He thinks I took his car?” Her Alabama accent thickened, and she dropped down in the chair. “Why would he think that?”
“Because you waited on him. Because his keys were on his table. Because you left and his car disappeared, but your car was here!”
“A friend picked me up and we went out. I came back and got my car later. I didn’t…Wait. Isn’t his car like expensive?”
“More than someone like you could afford.”
She had to bite her tongue. Little did the idiot know that she’d inherited more money from her stepfather than he’d ever see in his lifetime. “If I stole his car why would I come to work today?”
He paused. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“I am telling you. I wouldn’t be here. I’d either be halfway across Texas in his schmancy car, or I’d be on a bus with a bundle of cash in my pocket.”
“His car was found.”
“So they caught the person who took it?”
“No. They found his car. He still thinks you—”
“Just because I waited on him? That’s jumping to conclusions, isn’t it? He probably dropped his keys on the floor and some customer grabbed them.”
“How would they have known what car was his?” Okay, her boss’s IQ was showing, not that there was a lot to show.
“They probably pushed the button on the key fob and the car lights came on. But hey, if he thinks I did this, I’ll call the police and tell them where I was. They can get witnesses. I’ll do that right now.” She reached for his desk phone.
He slammed his hand on top of the phone and dragged it toward him. “No. He doesn’t want…”
“Want what?” she asked. “I’ll work with the police to clear my name. Let me call them.”
He seemed to consider what she had said. She held her breath. Losing this job might mean losing Armand, and that wasn’t an option.
“Charles doesn’t want his…the cops to know that the car was taken from here.”
“Well, how else am I going to convince him I didn’t take it?”
Mr. Grimes studied her—hard. She could almost see his mind turning—slowly. “I’ll talk to him. It does seem unlikely that you’d have come back to work if you were guilty.”
“Good.” If she hadn’t thought the pencil sitting on his desk was sharper than the man sitting behind it, she might have given herself credit for talking her way out of this jam.
“So get to work,” he mouthed off. “I don’t pay you to do nothing.”
She headed for the door.
“One more thing,” he said.
She turned. “Yeah.”
“A Mr. Armand will be in later. He sat in Candy’s section last night. Tall, dark hair, wears expensive suits, has an accent, tips well. He’s an investor in the club. He was asking about you.”
“Me?” In the beginning she’d worried she might look a little too much like her sister, but then only a few people had said she reminded them of someone. Perhaps Armand paid closer attention to detail. “Why would he ask about me?”
“He likes blondes. So if he sits in your section, make sure he’s…well taken care of. Make him happy.” Grimes’s tone gave her super creepy vibes. Then she remembered delivering some of Candy’s drinks last night when the waitress had mysteriously disappeared for about fifteen minutes. Had Candy been told to make Armand happy? Had she been pressured into having sex with him?
She forced herself to smile when what she really wanted to do was go for her boss’s double-chinned throat.
A lump of disgust rose in her chest. “You bet.” She walked out.
Fury pumped through her veins as she made her way to her locker to store her purse. Little did Mr. Grimes know, Brie would make sure Armand got screwed—just not in the way her boss seemed to be insinuating.
* * *
Ten minutes after clocking in, Brie suddenly felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle as she stood at the bar to collect her first order of drinks. Turning around, she scanned the club. Was it one of her fellow FBI agents? Armand? Or maybe Eliot?
She didn’t see any of them.
“Hey.” Candy came up and set her tray beside Brie’s. She was one of the few waitresses who wasn’t trying to move up to dancer, and while Brie had seen her buy some weed, she didn’t think Candy did any hard drugs. Her light green eyes met Brie’s. “I thought you were getting fired. Mr. Dunn was saying you’d taken his car last night.”
“Yeah, he’s not very smart.”
Candy reached for a few drink napkins and Brie noticed bruises on both of the waitress’s forearms, as if someone had held her down. Bruises weren’t uncommon around here, but she’d never noticed them on Candy. An ugly thought hit. Had Armand caused them last night? The earlier fury with her boss and with Armand, came back threefold.
“What happened?” Brie motioned to her coworker’s arm.
“Nothing.” Candy looked away, but not before Brie noticed a flash of shame in her eyes.
“If someone did that to you, you should report it.”
Candy glanced up. “And get fired. As my mom says, ‘I get what I deserve for working here.’”
Brie considered her next words carefully. “I’m trying to figure out what kind of a mother would say that to her daughter. The only thing I can come up with is a piss-poor one. It’s not true. Seriously, you shouldn’t—”
“Shh,” Candy said as Mr. Grimes walked up.
Their boss moved behind the bar, then stared at her and Candy. “Go wipe a table down or flirt with the customers instead of standing around yakking.”
Candy disappeared. Brie stayed and clenched her fists down at her sides. Grimes moved in close and put his face in front of hers to intimidate her. She didn’t budge. “I’m waiting on a drink order.”
“Here you go.” Brad, the bartender, moved around Grimes and dropped two Jack and Cokes on her tray with a wink. She took off. After delivering the drinks, she started cleaning off a table and felt the hair on the back of her neck start dancing—again.
This time she was sure of it. Someone had her in their crosshairs.
Brie glanced around again, this time catching sight of a guy sitting toward the back of Candy’s section, wearing a baseball cap pulled down over his face. He was big and blond.
Connor?